


It Won't Kill Ya

by musiclvr1112



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: AU Yeah AUgust (Miraculous Ladybug), Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Dancing, Explicit Language, F/M, Summer Camp AU, camp counselors, ml au yeah august
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 11:53:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15630156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musiclvr1112/pseuds/musiclvr1112
Summary: AU Yeah August Day 9: Summer Camp





	It Won't Kill Ya

**Author's Note:**

> "Dance with me. It won't kill ya." - The Chainsmokers, [It Won't Kill Ya](https://youtu.be/RxljKS5rc7w) ft. Louane

 

It’s your first day at the camp and you’re already lost. You thank your lucky stars that the kids don’t show up until next week otherwise you’d probably be made fun of for the rest of Summer. But then again, who’s to say the other camp counselors won’t make fun of you too?

The sun is setting and no one told you how hard it would be to distinguish between the shadows of people and trees at night out here. You just wanted to find the cabin where you’ll be teaching the art classes to get a feel for the supplies you’ll be working with, but you’re pretty sure you’re closer to your bunk where you started.

Wait, that building doesn’t look familiar. At least, as unfamiliar as another log cabin can look. It seems rather large for an art room, but then again, you don’t know how many kids will be wanting to learn to paint.

As you approach the building, you can hear loud music coming from inside and you’re both relieved and nervous at the prospect of there being another person in there. Relieved because you can ask them where the hell you are and where the art room is. Nervous because they might label you the lost boy for the rest of camp. From what you gathered earlier, this is definitely one of those camps where they give lasting nicknames to everyone. Nicknames that apparently even last years.

You wonder what the old art counselor’s name was.

When you open the door to the cabin, you realize two things.

One: This is not the art room.

Two: You definitely just walked in on someone’s private dance rehearsal.

_And one for the road. Dance with me. It won’t kill ya._

You stop dead in your tracks, feet planted at the door as you watch the woman dance around the room. Windows cover the entirety of the wall opposite you and they cast the orange glow of the sunset over her sweat-slick skin as she moves. She looks positively angelic with light shining through her platinum blonde hair as it whips around from the ponytail sitting atop her head. Her sports bra and tiny shorts don’t leave much to the imagination and _wow_ you never knew dancing could look so sexy.

_So why won’t you just stay a little longer?_

You don’t know much about dance, but you think you can recognize ballet moves when you see them. Though you’re absolutely certain that her dance overall is _not_ ballet. It’s so much more energetic and seductive and modern than that. But the ballet touches give it such a strange hint of fluidity and _grace._

Is she the dance counselor? In the back of your mind, you wonder if she would be comfortable with you drawing her dance.

And maybe taking her out on a canoe ride around the lake or something.

She’s in the middle of a spinning move of some sort when she catches your eye and stumbles, crashing to the floor with a very ungraceful, “GAH.”

You immediately rush forward to help her up. “Are you okay??”

“How long have you been standing there!?” She doesn’t take the hand you’re offering, electing to pick herself up, and now that you’re closer you can see that her thin frame is made of pure muscle. She could probably kill you with ease. “You scared the crap out of me!” In fact, you think those eyes alone could probably kill you.

“S-Sorry,” you say, reverting to your nervous stutter. “I-I’ve only been here a couple minutes, I-I just—,”

“Only a couple _minutes!?_ That’s like the whole dance! You could have said something!”

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to!”

Her chest rises and falls with the heavy breaths and she finally stops yelling for a moment to observe you. You think it’s probably the sunset flooding the room that makes her eyes look like their glowing, but you can’t deny how drop dead gorgeous that intense blue is.

“You don’t look familiar,” she says. “Who are you?”

“I’m Nathaniel!” You feel like a total dweeb as you hold out your hand and she just stands there with her arms crossed over her chest. “A-And you?”

“Chloé,” she says, and she still doesn’t shake your hand. You drop it and stick it in the pocket of your jeans like the awkward fuck that you are. “You the new art counselor?”

“Yeah,” you reply, nodding your head. You wonder if you’re the only new counselor this year or if there’s just something about you that screams artist. You suppose the paint splatters on your jeans are probably a good sign. “Are you the dance counselor?”

She looks you up and down a couple more times before turning and walking over to the stereo now playing a different song. “Yeah, great observation skills you got there, Red.” Oh great, so they’re not above picking on your hair color here either. Well, at least _Red_ isn’t malicious like a lot of the other names you’ve gotten. Is that going to be your new nickname? Or will it just be _her_ nickname for you?

She stops the music and a soft symphony of calm lapping waves and cooing birds floods the room in its absence. She doesn’t say anything more as she just scrolls through something on her phone and you wrack your brain for a way to turn this interaction into a positive one before she kicks you out. “I-I really didn’t mean to walk in on your rehearsal. I was looking for the art room…”

“You dance?”

You pause, and for a second you wonder if she heard you or if she’s just ignoring your explanation. You’re pretty sure it’s the latter.

“Um… No, not really. I’ve never tried.”

She hums in thought then and sets down her phone. You realize she’s started up the song you walked in on again. Then she sets those burning blue eyes on you and approaches, the sway of her hips absolutely deadly as she does something so simple as _walk_ toward you.

She’s standing a comfortable distance from you when she stops and points in some direction—you think it might be West. “Art building is that way. It’s the only one with a painted door.” She crosses her arms again then and shrugs, and for the first time you see a tiny smirk at the corner of her lips. “But if you get lost again tomorrow, maybe I’ll teach you a few moves.”

“Th-Thank you,” stumbles out of your mouth as your insides turn to mush.

As you leave and she picks up her dance rehearsal behind you, you think that you are _definitely_ getting lost again tomorrow.

 


End file.
